A Fool Looking for Logic
by skybound2
Summary: Alistair searches for Tabris after she disappears following the events at the Alienage. Spoliers through to pre-Landsmeet and for the City-Elf origin.


**Title**: A Fool Looking for Logic  
**Author**:**skybound2**  
**Characters**: Alistair, Zevran, Sten, Wynne, and Fem!City-Elf PC (Kallian Tabris) (Alistair/Tabris; with hints of Zevran/Tabris)  
**Word Count**: ~4600  
**Rating**: PG  
**Summary**: Alistair searches for Tabris after she disappears following the events at the Alienage. (Spoliers through to pre-Landsmeet and for the City-Elf origin.)  
**Author's Note**: Beta? What is this word of which you speak? I know it not. Seriously, all mistakes are my own. Apologies in advance. (Also Tabris + Sten = Total BFF) Originally posted over at "Swooping is Bad" on LJ.

**A Fool Looking for Logic**

Alistair was a fool. A fool with more feet in his mouth then he had at the end of his legs. One would think that would make talking a tad difficult for the former Templar, but somehow, he managed to keep opening his mouth just wide enough to shove another foot in. Honestly, he may have found a happy home amongst those traveling bazaar shows from Orlais, such was his talent, if Duncan hadn't found him first.

"_Wedding. You're married?"_ Was his memory deceiving him or had his his voice really cracked right then? It did, didn't it?

"_The wedding never actually took place."_

And he had whined then (in that pitiful, simpering way that Morrigan was always accusing him of). _"Still, you never told me you were betrothed. What happened?"_

Her voice had been flat, her eyes hard. _"He died."_

"_I'm sorry."_

"_We'll talk about this some other time." _Her tone had broke no argument, so he had merely nodded and left it at that, hoping that they would indeed talk about it later. He was in such a fog following that little reveal, that he had barely heard the remainder of the exchange between Kallian and her cousin.

But so far, they hadn't talked. They'd uncovered the slavers that had taken hold of the Alienage, cleared out the orphanage of its demons, and spoken briefly with Kallian's family. He'd been nervous after she'd agreed to have dinner with them, wondering how he was going to avoid sticking his foot in his mouth for an entire _dinner_, but it turned out there hadn't been a reason to worry. Kallian had actually blown off the dinner in favor of heading back to Eamon's and giving him a rundown of what was going on. The Arl's cook had been all to willing to whip them up some food for supper, but the other Warden had done little more then push the food about her plate, before excusing herself, and disappearing from the room with not so much as a glance at Alistair. And now, having just completed his tenth circuit of the estate, with no sign of her anywhere, Alistair was beginning to get worried.

An idea sparked in his head, and he set off for the far end of the estate again, towards her rooms.

~~~\/~~~

"Sten! Just the person I was looking for. Or rather, _not _the person I was looking for, but the person who I was looking for to help me find the person I'm looking for. The point is, I found you." Alistair's words all rolled together as he came to a halt just a few feet from the qunari. Sten tilted his head down, focusing eyes that Alistair had always found just a tad unsettling on the other man.

"I was not lost."

Alistair's laugh was brief, but slightly frantic at that. "No, that's not want I meant. You're obviously right here. But Kallian appears to be. Lost, that is. I've been looking for her for hours, and I just…I can't seem to find her." Alistair was aware that his voice had taken on a most hideously plaintive and whining quality, but he didn't very much care at the moment.

Sten arched a brow at the Warden, "What is the point of this conversation?"

Alistair's eyes widened then, further illustrating the little boy lost quality that he knew he was displaying, "Well, you're her friend. Aren't you?"

After only a brief hesitation, the qunari responded, "Yes."

Alistair motioned with his hands in an 'A-ha!' gesture towards the qunari, "Exactly! You may all think that I'm thick, but I _do _pay attention. Most of the time, at least. And for whatever reason, she trusts you. She, well she tells you…you know…stuff."

"How very eloquent."

Alistair sighed in frustration, just barely resisting the urge to run his hand through his hair. (It was a very close call however, and he found himself instead rubbing the skin on the back of his neck.) "Well, she was upset earlier. After…well, after what happened at the Alienage and all, and I thought she might have spoken to you." Alistair's voice dropped in volume a bit, conspiratorially, "Perhaps, told you where she was going?"

Sten's unblinking gaze remained focused on Alistair, "She did."

Alistair perked up a bit, a small smile gracing his face, "So then you know where she is?"

"Yes."

Alistair waited for Sten to continue, but when the qunari said nothing more for several long moments he once again spoke up, "Well, are you going to tell me?"

"No."

"But, but – but, why not?!" There was that damnable whine again, he could practically _hear _Morrigan snickering at him.

"The fact that she chose not to tell you is answer enough."

"Oh, well, _that's _not fair. How do you know that she hadn't planned on telling me? Or maybe even asking me to go with her, and that she just couldn't find me, hmm?" Alistair crossed his arms, pulling himself up a bit straighter.

The qunari gave him a look then, one that Alistair quite correctly interpreted, and the former Templar's stance promptly fell, "Oh. Oh, fine. I get it." He sighed again, before jumping up into a straight posture once more; pointing a finger at the other man, "Cake!"

Sten blinked at him. Twice. "I fail to see the connection."

"The cook, she was preparing a cake. I – I overheard."

The qunari waited; his posture stiff (as always).

"I could – _perhaps_ – be persuaded to smuggle some out of the larder for you. In exchange…" And, oh, oh, wow. Alistair hadn't known that it was possible for so many conflicting emotions to be visible on the qunari's face until that very moment. _Sten has facial expressions? Who knew!_

"A bribe."

"Well – no. Not really, a _bribe_." Alistair forced a laugh, "That's such a, a not nice word to use. Think of it more as a gift. A boon! If you will."

"It is a bribe." The qunari straightened, and crossed his arms.

Alistair matched the other man's position, "Well, far be it from me to try and educate you on the finer points of the Common tongue."

"Yes. Far be it."

"So then, do we have a deal?"

"No."

"Fine then," Alistair's voice was slightly biting, "see if I ever offer you any delicious bakery confections again." With that, Alistair turned and stormed from the room, resisting the urge to stomp his feet along the way.

The qunari expelled a longing sign once the Warden's back was to him. He really would have enjoyed a piece of cake…

~~~\/~~~

Wynne was counting. To be more specific, Wynne was counting the number of times that Alistair had paced through the front hall, passed where she was reading, down through the library, and then on into the upper echelons of the Arl's estate.

She was currently at twelve and a half. And frankly, he was beginning to wear on her patience as much as he was wearing on the stone floors.

"Alistair." The mage stifled a smile at the former Templar's abrupt halt in his movement (currently, he was heading into the library doors). She watched as he backpedaled slightly, leaning his head through the door frame to address her.

"Yeees?"

"Is there something you need help with?" She raised a hand to prevent him from interrupting, "I ask, because you seem to be distinctly perturbed at the moment."

He leaned fully on the frame at that, his hands hanging limping at his sides, "Is it that obvious?"

Wynne gave him a soft smile, slipping a piece of ribbon into her book to hold her place before letting it rest in her lap. "Only to some, I suspect."

He sighed (a habit he was really beginning to abuse) and nodded.

"It might help to talk about it," she gently prodded. The sooner she figured out what was going on in his head, the sooner she could get some peace.

"There's nothing to talk about really. I just can't find Kallian. I haven't seen her since we sat down with Eamon to talk about the problems in the Alienage. It was…not good, Wynne. She was doing a damn good job of seeming like she was unaffected, but after everything that happened…I know that's not the case. And she didn't want to talk about it then, she never wants to talk about anything, really. So I left her alone. And now, now I can't find her anywhere, and it's been _ages_. Andraste only knows why, but she told **Sten** where she was going and not me, and that damned stubborn qunari won't breathe a word about where she's gone, and I – okay, so maybe there _is _something to talk about." He dropped with an exhausted huff of air in the seat across from her, looking sad and lost.

"Ahh, so you've been looking for her for awhile then."

"Hence the pacing. Yes."

"You know, Alistair, whenever I feel the need to reflect on what's going on in my life, be it something large – like the Blight – or something much smaller, I tend to retreat to that which is…familiar." Her soft gaze met his worried one, as she held up her book. "Often for me, that is something as simple as a much-read book."

"Yeah, but Kallian doesn't really _read._ She's more of the hack and slash variety." His gaze was a bit wistful.

Wynne tried not be exasperated, as it was clear that the love-struck boy in front her meant well, "Be that as it may, Alistair. We are currently in Denerim. And while Kallian may not have grown up in the city proper, I'd wager that there are many familiar places here for her to retreat to, should the need arise."

It was as if a light went off behind Alistair's eyes, "You think she went back to the Alienage?"

"I think it is a possibility. But, you know her better then I, after all."

Alistair rubbed his hands back and forth over his knees, "Right." Wynne thought that he sounded anything but sure of that, which was curious to her; for the sake of her sanity, she left the subject alone.

He stood from his seat then, his gaze focused more internally then at her, "thank you, Wynne."

"Anytime, Alistair." And Wynne found that she meant it.

~~~\/~~~

Alistair practically flew across the Denerim marketplace on his way to the Alienage. And to his luck, the only interference he had encountered had been a very odd pack of orange tabby-cats standing in what appeared to be an army formation, just before the bridge.

"Now, that is just...creepy." He shook off the momentary stupor that the army cats had caused, and edged his way around them. Trying his best to ignore the way their little cat eyes seemed to follow his every move. It was with a sigh of relief that he made it to the entrance of the Alienage.

As it was currently winter in Ferelden, night had settled over the city hours earlier, so it was with the guiding light of the moon that he managed to spot her, sitting on a pile of rocks at the far end of the bridge. Her back was towards him, as her body was turned towards the Alienage itself, but he would recognize the slope of her neck anywhere. He stopped in his tracks, some several yards behind her, so struck was he by the lovely picture she made, this bit of moonlit beauty amongst the rubble.

And because the Maker seemed to delight in dropping anvils in his way, no matter how hard he tried to sidestep them, sitting beside her was one Zevran Arainai.

"Of course." He bit back a small curse, as he began to hurry his steps across the bridge. He knew that the other elf had not left when Kallian did, as the assassin had been witness to no less then three of his circuits through the library on his search for their wayward leader. The bastard must have taken note of Alistair's distress, and decided to mount his own one-man search party. The conniving sneak. The sensible part of Alistair (which sounded disturbingly like Kallian herself), was glad that she was not alone. Regardless, the sight of the other man, sitting so...uncomfortably close to his love, was enough to set his blood to boiling.

He was just closing the gap between the three of them – envisioning grabbing the Antivan round the throat and hurling him unceremoniously over the side of the bridge, before sweeping the dark-haired beauty into his arms and kissing her breathless – when that slick, accented voice broke the silence.

"What was his name?"

Alistair found himself frozen to the spot, still unseen, as a breath of a moment passed before Kallian answered – her normally strong voice strangely subdued, "Nelaros. His name was Nelaros."

~~~\/~~~

Kallian had no idea how long she had been sitting, legs pulled up to her chest on that pile of rocks, before Zevran slipped into the spot next to her. The events of the day had torn at her heart, and in the end, she hadn't been brave enough to even sit down and have dinner with her family. She'd left the Arl's estate earlier, in the hopes that she would be able to work up the nerve to do so. Alas, such was not her fate. She had barely made it as far as the end of the bridge before she'd been stopped, held back by her own feelings of guilt.

Zevran didn't speak for quite some time, but she found herself relaxing none the less. The warmth of his body settled such a small distance from her own provided her with a comfort she hadn't expected. Which is why, when he asked the question, she had found herself actually willing to answer.

"Nelaros. His name was Nelaros." Her tongue darted out, moistening dried, cracked lips. "I – I didn't actually know him. Not before that day, at least."

"Ahh, an arranged marriage then?"

"Yes." She chanced a glance up then, her dark eyes meeting Zevran's amber ones, finding nothing but openness in their gaze. "I don't suppose that's very common where you're from?"

Zevran laughed, the kind sound warming her thoroughly, "Not precisely, no. Do not misunderstand, nobles in Antiva are just as subjected to those sorts of machinations as in any other land, but for the rest of us? No. No it is not common. Even for those not raised as orphans in a whore-house."

She smiled briefly, though it did not reach her eyes, before she broke their gaze in favor of looking at the leather of her boots once more. "Well, that's just how its done here in the Alienage. My father had gone through great pains to secure me what he thought would be a suitable husband. He was certain that he would be a good match for me."

"But you were not." It was a statement, not a question, and Kallian was (once again) impressed with how easily Zevran could read her.

"I fought it tooth and claw, actually." She let loose a small laugh, "_Maker_, but some of the other women in town were certainly jealous enough that I had been matched with Nelaros. Bitter, even. But, despite all of that, I wanted **nothing **to do with getting married. It just seemed so...final." She glanced up, taking in the limited view of the night-blanketed Alienage that she could see, "like this was all that I would ever know. And I, I wanted _more._"

"Of course you did, my dear." She looked back up at him then, a question in her gaze, hoping he would continue. He did not disappoint. "I do not think it needs to be said, but perhaps you need to hear it regardless. So I will indulge you. You – my dear Grey Warden – are an exceptional creature. And I say this with some measure of experience with exceptional creatures. The things that you have managed to accomplish since your wedding that wasn't, have been unparalleled. One such as you should never be kept in a cage, gilded or otherwise. And not to put too fine a point on it, as it _is _your home afterall, but," and here he gestured out towards the Alienage, "I think we are both in agreement that as far as cages go, this one is far from gilded."

"Quite right." The momentary look of happiness on her face was gone as quickly as it arrived. "I didn't want to marry him. I didn't want to marry anyone. And right up until the moment that the Arl's bastard son showed up to cart us off for his own _festivities - _" The poison that she laced the word with left no doubt in Zevran's mind exactly what this man had in mind for Kallian and her friends. His left hand closed in a tight fist, the sharp nails of his fingers digging deeply into the leather of his glove. "- I found myself wishing, _praying _- as laughable as that is – that something would happen to prevent the wedding from taking place."

"So it is guilt you feel then. You know of course, that you are not responsible for what happened."

Her eyes were cold, hard, when they met his, a slow boiling rage coloring her words, "Am I not? I watched him kill Nelaros, right before my eyes. A man I barely knew, a man I certainly did not love. A man I wanted _nothing _to do with, and he died. Saving** me.** I cut a bloody swath through the Arl's estate, Zevran. I killed everything, _everything_ that got in my way. And in the end, I was too late to save Shianni from that horrid Shem's paws. I could have left him then, left him to accept whatever fate they deem appropriate when a Shemlan rapes a knife-ear. But instead I severed his head from his body. I _reveled_ in it. And the shameful part? It's not the I enjoyed it; it's that I would do it again, and again, and again. All of it. Every last _bit of it_. Because now I am free. There is no marriage to some nice boy waiting in the wings for me. There is no life left for me in the Alienage at all. It's over. Maybe I'll die fighting the Archdemon, or maybe I'll die tomorrow. But I don't care_._ It was worth it. It was all worth it, because this past year I have seen more, done more, had more freedom then I ever thought possible. What does it matter if I was not directly responsible, if I would willingly sacrifice them again? And I -" and here, her cold, angry resolve finally cracked, and her voice broke, "What does that say about me, Zev? What kind of a person does that make me?"

She felt so unsure of herself in that moment, so ready to crumble, and Zevran had a look upon his face such as she had never witnessed before. The moment passed, and he reached out cupping her face in his palm, tilting her eyes back up to his. "I once overheard a very wise person tell a lovely little bard we both know that 'Evil does not worry about being good.'" His eyes were warm, and deep as they gazed into hers, the rough skin of his thumb stroking the soft lines of her cheek ever so slightly.

She found herself leaning into the touch, her eyes closing briefly, "You heard that, huh?"

"Mmm, I've overheard many a thing at night within the confines of our little camp. For instance, the night before we arrived in Denerim, I overheard you, or perhaps it was Alistair, make this series of sounds -"

Surprised, she jerked away from his touch, his hand falling back down to his side. "That's okay! No need to go into detail." And my, but were her cheeks warm? Yes, her cheeks were most certainly burning up right now. "I think I can recall it just fine on my own."

"Pity. I was looking forward to describing it in _exquisite, _detail." His grin was positively lecherous now as he leaned towards her. And honestly, when had he gotten so close?

"Maybe some other time then." Her smile this time was genuine. It felt good on her face.

"I will hold you to that, my dear. Now, let's move one. Before the others begin to wonder where we have gone off to, and start to imagine all of the wicked things I may have done to you in so much time." He stood then, in one fluid motion, reaching out a hand for her to pull herself up, which she accepted with a light smile.

Once she was standing before him, she took a moment just to gaze at him. This dangerous elf that was made of so much more then he let on, and found herself eternally grateful that she had spared him that day on the road. "I would...I would like to visit with my father first. I think I owe him that much."

He reached out one leather gloved hand, brushing a stray lock behind her ear, his hand lingering as long as it was able, "Alright. I shall leave you to it then." He made a motion as if to leave, but her hand snaked out, grasping his by the wrist.

"Would you...accompany me please? It won't be long. And I daresay that my father might actually enjoy talking to an elf from Antiva."

The other elf's apprehension at her request was obvious to Kallian, she could only hope that he would recognize her need for his companionship at that moment. As was beginning to be a pattern for him, he did not disappoint. "I – yes. If that is your desire."

"It is."

They stood there for a few moments longer, gazes lingering, before he glanced up, looking past her shoulder, and nodded his head slightly. "Well, then, let us be off." He turned, and placed a guiding hand on the small of her back, pushing her ever so subtly forward, "If I recall your father's house is this way, yes?"

Her throat thick with gratitude, and not a small amount of apprehension, she could only nod in response.

~~~\/~~~

Alistair felt sick. Whether it was from the confession that he had so dishonestly heard, or from the fact that he had so willing eavesdropped on what was clearly meant to be a private conversation, he could not say.

Her cousin was raped? Her fiance murdered? And she...no, no he didn't want to think about it at that moment. He didn't want to think about how close he'd come to losing her before he'd ever even known she'd existed. He didn't want to think about what would have become of her if Duncan hadn't conscripted her the way that he did.

He didn't want to think about the fact that it was Zevran she had shared all of this with really, and not him.

He continued to stand there, hidden by the shadows (or so he thought, he should have known better), and watched as Zevran managed to make her smile, and then laugh. Made all of the tension in her body seemingly melt away. All with a few well placed words, and naughty remarks. With the single touch of his hand on her cheek.

Oh, wow. He really thought that he might be sick.

Now, he watched as Zevran stood before her, his face finally fully visible to Alistair. He was in a perfect position to see the surprise on the other man's face as Kallian invited him to her father's, and knew that the countenance was reflected on his own.

The two elves stared at each other, unmoving, and Alistair grew uncomfortable with watching. He thought that it was time he (finally) leave, but something kept him rooted to that spot. When Zevran looked up a few scant seconds later, and locked eyes with him, Alistair knew, with a sinking sort of feeling, that the assassin had been aware of his presence the entire time. Still, he said nothing, _did_ nothing, to give him away. He wasn't sure what Zevran was waiting for, precisely, but he felt some of the fight go out of him at that moment, his shoulders slumping. His brief nod to the elf was returned in kind, before Zevran returned his attention fully to Kallian, guiding her deeper into the Alienage. Their voices, and her laughter, trailing off into the night.

~~~\/~~~

Try as he might, Alistair had been unable to fall into a peaceful sleep. Whenever he'd closed his eyes, he'd imagined all manners of horrible things. Like the Arl's son (who he envisioned as some sort of wart-covered demon-y, beast...thing) choosing to take Kallian instead of Shianni first (his relief when he woke and realized that was not the case was quickly drowned out by his guilt for feeling such a thing to begin with). No, sleep would not be a friend to him tonight.

So now, now he was simply waiting. Waiting for morning. Waiting for her to return. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Just _waiting._

The estate has grown silent all around, the slight settling of the stones the only noise to accompany her when she slipped oh-so-quietly into the room. His breath caught in his throat, and he closed his eyes, feigning sleep.

In the quiet chamber, he listened as she shucked off her gloves and armor, followed by her boots. The small thud they made as they hit the floor reverberating across the room. While he wasn't certain, his internal clock was of the mindset that dawn had nearly arrived. She had been gone for most of the night.

With Zevran. He felt a muscle in his jaw tick at the thought.

Still, he couldn't help but feel some small bit of elation that she had chosen to come to his room instead of going to her own (or, Maker forbid, the assassin's). A moment went by, the sound of her rapid breathing echoing against the walls, as if she was trying to come to some decision. Just when he was finally prepared to speak up, to break the utter awkward silence he was feeling like a lead weight on his chest, she moved. Quick as her blade, she slipped in between the sheets. The heat of her body pressed full-length against his own. The sigh of relief that escaped from him as one slender arm wrapped around his bare chest, and her head nestled beneath his chin, was unavoidable.

His own arms reached up, with absolutely no instruction from him whatsoever, and tugged her tighter into his embrace. He breathed deeply then, the scent of her rushing through his body – wine, cedar, and leather mixed with something that was unmistakably just _her – _and decided that any recriminations he may have had at the moment could wait.

When she let lose a contented sigh of her own, and pressed a soft, moist kiss to his chest – just above his heart – a whispered, "I love you" breathing past her lips, he knew he had had made the right choice. Any concerns, or curiosities begging to be sated could wait until the morning. She was there now, and suddenly that was all that mattered.

~End

"It's a fool that looks for logic in the chambers of the human heart."  
O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000) – Ulysses Everett McGill


End file.
